("UNSALVATIONED" continues.)

III

Jacob "Moses" McCullough, the World's Most Dangerous Coke Dealer, had a problem in that his drink was rapidly filling with tears. His own tears. Maybe this was because he was crying into it, "it" being his drink, which was gin and made him mean.
"Why don't you love me?" he screamed across the room at a young girl in lingerie. "I give you everything. I buy your food, I buy your gas..."
"I can't drive," said the girl, who was half listening to Moses and half slathering makeup on her face.
"No," said Moses, "But you can certainly eat. Oh, now you've got me insulting you. Calling you fat. I just called you fat, in case you didn't catch my drift. I'm so sorry, baby. But you bring it on yourself. You really do." At this, he encompassed the room with three broad steps and took his girl in his arms, whence he began simultaneously to embrace and throttle her. This soon gave way to simultaneously beating her and fornicating with her, making him doubly a sinner. It didn't help that she was only sixteen, and thus some years short of legal adulthood.
As Moses climaxed in a mess of white and red, Betty burst in the door. She immediately burst back out. Brett appeared next. Moses recognized Brett, for they were, in fact, old friends. Or, rather, they had been friends until Brett fired Moses from the Motor Speedway for inadvertantly causing the death of Jeff Gordon, a very sad story of much human interest which I might tell you some other time if I'm drunk and you're lucky or vice-versa.
Anyway, Moses and Brett were not on good terms. So, it was not uncharacteristic when Moses said, "Get out, you pigfucker."
"Excuse me," said Brett, "Fucking one pig does not a pigfucker make."
"Boys, boys," said Tim, entering with Betty in hand, "Use language like that, and you'll stay unsalvationed forever."
"Unsalvationed?" said Moses suspiciously, for he was greatly suspicious. "Of course I'm unsalvationed. I'm the World's Most Dangerous Coke Dealer. I rose to prominence in the world of high risk Coke-Snorting Contests because of certain natural talents." He tapped his nose, which was indeed quite big. "It was only logical I would then become a prominent coke dealer. As I was wont to murder my competitors viciously, I soon earned the title of 'Most Dangerous.'"
"You've actually killed people?" said Betty. "I don't see how we'll ever salvation you."
"It's okay, Betty," said Tim. "The people he killed were probably black. And, you know, sometimes God doesn't care."
"Dude," said Moses, "You're a racist." Tim shrugged. "No, man," Moses continued, "You really are a racist. I think you're unsalvationed. I mean, I'm actually offended."
"Good," said Brett. "It's a start."
Moses' face brightened at the thought that even he, the World's Most Dangerous Coke Dealer, might be salvationable. "Hey," he said, indicating the young girl, "Have you met my wife, Kathaylor?"
"Nice to meet you, Kathaylor," said Brett. "Now go make me a cake."
In contrast to Moses' shit-eating grin, Betty's face now darkened. "I thought you only made me bake for you," she said.
"Betty," said Brett, touching her arm with a gentle yet firm manliness, the likes of which made her clitoris stiffen. "You will always be the queen of my penis. And that's all that matters."
At the sight of this beautiful scene between two people, Moses' heart wept as his eyes had earlier. Instantly, he was salvationed. Tim sprang up with joy and punched someone in the face.
"Betty," he said. "Brett. We're going to Heaven!"

INT. HAWKEYE'S TENT- DAY

TRAPPER and HAWKEYE are busy double-teaming a twelve year old PROSTITUTE when FRANK bursts in, waving a rifle.

HAWKEYE
Aw, Frank. Put that thing up, will ya? You can practice for your merit badge tomorrow.

FRANK
We won!

TRAPPER
Huh?

FRANK
The war. We won the war.

TRAPPER
We're at war?

HAWKEYE
I thought this was vacation.

Everyone laughs at HAWKEYE's clever quip, including the little girl he's reaming.

FRANK
Fuck you guys.

HAWKEYE & TRAPPER
(Dumbfounded)
Huh?

FRANK
I don't have to take your shit anymore. Now that the war's over, I'm neither your colleague nor comrade.

HAWKEYE opens his mouth to make a quip, so FRANK shoots him between the teeth. The rifle blast emerges through the back of HAWKEYE's neck accompanied by a spray of blood.

TRAPPER
Jesus Christ, Frank!

FRANK
My wife found out about me and Hot Lips. I don't have a home to return to. Now that the war's over, so's my life.

FRANK turns the gun on himself. Before TRAPPER can stop him, FRANK sprays his own brains all over the tent wall. The PROSTITUTE screams. Requisite cumshot.
 
Black out.

Yeah, I think that was probably my favorite episode of MASH.

Currently Reading Silent Bob Speaks : The Collected Writings of Kevin Smith By Kevin Smith see related

I wanted to review this play I saw at BGSU, "Anton in Show Business." Instead, however, I offer this (unedited, ooh) AIM conversation I had with Don about the play, which he didn't see. And it features my songwriting, too:

deadhelenkeller: Now that I have Finale - Songwriter Editon, I have to start writing lyrics
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: you do
deadhelenkeller: So I can churn out pop songs
deadhelenkeller: Split the tail / Of your favorite female
deadhelenkeller: Make her wail / As you assail
deadhelenkeller: CHORUS: Her mea----------e----------eeeee------eat curtains
deadhelenkeller: Meat curtains, yeah
deadhelenkeller: Or:
deadhelenkeller: My girl, my girl, my girl's back home
deadhelenkeller: Hate to admit it but I hate being alone
deadhelenkeller: When I saw her once again, I 'bout sprouted a bone
deadhelenkeller: *sprouted a new bone
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: you know that would have been a top 10 hit
deadhelenkeller: 'cause my girl, my girl, my girl's back home
deadhelenkeller: Well, yeah
deadhelenkeller: Of course it would have been a hit
deadhelenkeller: It's catchy
deadhelenkeller: Especially if we made it look and sound completely ironic
deadhelenkeller: So people could feel okay about liking it
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: I was thinking a hint of roots rock, so that the simplistic lyrics would seem appropriately provincial
deadhelenkeller: Give me a topic for a song
deadhelenkeller: I'll write one immediately
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: a literal topic, or a conciet subject?
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: *conceit
deadhelenkeller: Either
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: how about a loom?
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: it's both wildly outdated and rife with preconcieved associations
deadhelenkeller: Okay.

MY LOOM IS MY VAGINA

My flow is like a magazine subscription
That won't expire when the year is out;
But maybe when the Earth is more Egyptian,
The undertaker's wand will sear it out.

My loom is my vagina;
I write postcards to my mom,
And some of them are angry,
But spinning makes me swoon.

My loom is my vagina;
My loom is my vagina and my room.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: I don't know whether to laugh or cry
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: very Tori Amos
deadhelenkeller: My childhood was rife with bad predictions
Of when the handyman would take me home;
But now I realize no benediction
Can come from workman's comp and Benezone.
deadhelenkeller: My loom is my vagina;
I wash it every night,
deadhelenkeller: And sometimes stabbing tickles
deadhelenkeller: Sometimes it feels alright.
deadhelenkeller: My loom is my vagina;
I spun myself a kid;
My loom is my vagina and my womb is my vagina and the world said my vagina could not make a new vagina so I tried to prove them wrong and Nathan did.
deadhelenkeller: That's my kid.
deadhelenkeller: Nathan.
deadhelenkeller: Oh-oh
deadhelenkeller: Wallahallayah
deadhelenkeller: He's a vagina.
deadhelenkeller: And a guy.
deadhelenkeller: Hence, a rapist.
deadhelenkeller: Oh-oh.
deadhelenkeller: My-y loooom...
deadhelenkeller: The baby boom
deadhelenkeller: Ber-zoom
deadhelenkeller: Inside my loom
deadhelenkeller: My lights-off, lonely loom
deadhelenkeller: END.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: thank you and goodnight
deadhelenkeller: Yeah, Tori Amos was my aim
deadhelenkeller: When you said to write a song about a loom
deadhelenkeller: I just wish I could have worked in a reference to being raped.
deadhelenkeller: That would've completed the idiom.
deadhelenkeller: Unrelated, though, to this: how are your rapping skills?
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: non existant -- I can pull out a line or two, maybe even a whole verse, but I can never think of 50 ways to talk about the same topic
deadhelenkeller: I don't mean freestyling; I mean delivery.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: as far as delivering a written rap I am on par with anyone
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: my diction is probably slightly better than the average rapper
deadhelenkeller: Unrelated to that, did I tell you about the last play I saw at Bowling Green? "Anton in Show Business"?
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: no
deadhelenkeller: It sucked so incredibly bad
deadhelenkeller: The "Anton" of the title is great playwright/short story author Anton Chekhov. This play attempts to correspond directly with his play, "Three Sisters," of which the main characters- three actresses- are supposed to be doing a performance.
deadhelenkeller: Which is funny, of course, because Three Sisters is a classic masterpiece and this one's so fucking bad.
deadhelenkeller: It opens with a long monologue by the black stage manager. I can't understand half the monologue, because the character is- for no reason at all- given a lisp, but the audience I was with laughed pretty hard. Because theatre audiences are incredibly fucking stupid. They will laugh at anything.
deadhelenkeller: Anything.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: heh
deadhelenkeller: Then the main story starts in. One of them's a Jesus-freak hick; one's ugly and talentless, but I think I'm supposed to like her because she's a woman and a woman wrote the play, and because the story is written as though I like her; and one's a vain, famous, slutty actress, only the girl playing her looked exactly like a blonde Liza Minelli.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: the second one is not likely written as ugly and talentless, but simply cast that way, right?
deadhelenkeller: No, she's written as it
deadhelenkeller: The dialogue repeatedly references it
deadhelenkeller: But it's still written as though I like her
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: huh
deadhelenkeller: And it's not like the character's not annoying, either
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: oh, oh.  her looks don't matter because she's a woman
deadhelenkeller: Exactly
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: it all makes sense
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: continue
deadhelenkeller: Anyway, so the former two audition for some "wacky" theatre-person characters, with the slutty actress looking on. At this point, a girl playing a drama critic reviewing "Anton in Show Business" stands up in the audience. The critic asks why the "wacky" director character is played by a woman. The characters onstage are all pissed off, and spout some statistics about most directors being men and most theatre characters being women, and how they want to counteract the latter and "satirize" the former.
deadhelenkeller: Later, the critic character will be used in conjunction with the black stagehand to make some equally insipid point about race.
deadhelenkeller: But, anyway, the hick and the uggo do this audition, in which the director, for some reason, makes them play a fake scene using only "wacky" nonsense syllable-sounds for dialogue.
deadhelenkeller: Oh, the hilarity.
deadhelenkeller: What brilliant use of non-sequitor.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: christ
deadhelenkeller: They suck up the audition, but the slutty actress has them cast anyway.
deadhelenkeller: So they all fly down to Texas, because this performance is, for some reason, being sponsored by the tax-write-off department of a tobacco company- which device gives us a "wacky" billionaire character who doesn't understand culture, and a "wacky" cigarette-company-lackey character who calls his mother and makes her smoke into the phone while he assures her cigarettes are not bad for her health.
deadhelenkeller: Both characters, of course, get their own excruciatingly long scene.
deadhelenkeller: Also, a black-power lady who's supposed to be directing the play within the play shows up. She gets her scene about how she wants to revise the play with her own agenda. She proceeds to never appear in the play again.
deadhelenkeller: The director shows up. He's a "wacky" old Eastern European man, played by a girl who looks like Rachel Dratch from Saturday Night Live (ugly enough to play male characters exclusively). His scenes, as with all the other one-note characters, are "wacky" and make no sense and elicit much laughter from the moron audience.
deadhelenkeller: Some Eastern European chick who's overseeing some aspect of the play shows up. She's "wacky" and, also, a lesbian with a crush on the hick. She begins one scene by doing a ballet/Russian folk dance that's supposed to be parodic but is more compelling than the entire rest of the play.
deadhelenkeller: There's a scene where this Eastern European dancer chick knocks on the door of the motel room where the girls are staying up together. EE chick is drunk and holding a bottle, and she asks, through the door, if hick wants to "drink wine with me and make love." The girls tell her hick is already busy fucking slutty actress, so EE chick goes off, forlorn. That this scene is played for comedy shows me the playwright hates her own character. This is the exact opposite of the entire spirit of Chekhov's entire ouvre.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: hahahahaha
deadhelenkeller: There's also a country music singer guy, who's supposed to be hot but is not attractive as played by one of the chicks in drag. The slutty actress seduces him away from his wife then drops him. The character has no personality other than, I guess, he cannot resist the seductive charms of a fucking Liza Minelli look-alike.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: wait, was the cast all female?
deadhelenkeller: Yes. But poorly done.
So, basically, all this nonsense shit happens, the audience loves it, then the tobacco execs cancel the play for no reason. Slutty actress decides to finance the play herself, but she gets a job on a Hollywood movie. Because making money is the devil and Hollywood is artistically bankrupt (unlike, for example, this play), she is evil and takes it and abandons the other actresses.
deadhelenkeller: But she is punished when her flight is cancelled at the airport.
deadhelenkeller: The actresses recite the final lines of "Three Sisters" together for no reason.
deadhelenkeller: Blackout.
deadhelenkeller: Hick gets the Epilogue,
deadhelenkeller: Although, why this play needs a monologue, I haven't the slightest.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: maybe the entire play is written speciically for shitty college drama departments
deadhelenkeller: The monologue's about a transcendent theatrical experience, which the monologue is not well-written enough to portray and which this play is obviously trying desperately to be.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: and the monologue is there for the educational value the actress gains from fucking it up
deadhelenkeller: I am at the Franklin Heights of colleges.
deadhelenkeller: Only, there are no entertaining race-war-esque fights.
deadhelenkeller: It was obvious the monologue was there to cap the play, turning it into a supposed knockout punch of a theatrical experience.
deadhelenkeller: Like Rosalind's epilogue in As You Like It.
deadhelenkeller: Oh, I forgot: the critic from earlier gets her own long monologue before this, about how she's actually just a critic for a trade journal and how she's going to give Anton in Show Business a good review because it's so great.
deadhelenkeller: As I said, this play is desperate to be loved.
deadhelenkeller: And the audience did love it, because people who are almost borderline intelligent lack even the most basic semblance of taste.
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: what?  someone in the play actually stood up and commented on how good the play was?
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: intertextuality is one thing, autofellatio is another entirely
deadhelenkeller: The girl playing the critic who sits in the audience and questions the play
deadhelenkeller: Yes, it was autofellatio
deadhelenkeller: It kind of comforted me, though, because up 'til then I had been questioning my short stories a whole hell of a lot. This play made me say to myself, "There is no way I will ever write something as bad as this. And this received good audience reception, too."
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: I mean, even Tenacious D, after stating that they once played the greatest song of all time, have the humility to admit that they subsequently forgot it and are now only singing a song about that song
deadhelenkeller: The play tried to be fake-humble about it, too
deadhelenkeller: It only praised itself in modest terms
deadhelenkeller: But you could tell it meant a hell of a lot more
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: You realize, of course, that you have to file this play in your mind as being synonymous with sucking one's own dick
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: though if the play required that it would be a great play
deadhelenkeller: Of course
deadhelenkeller: Or, in this case, sucking one's own clit
deadhelenkeller: One's throbbing, three-inch man-clit

deadhelenkeller: Oh, one thing about the play I forgot
deadhelenkeller: The only actually funny part in this "comedy" was when the ugly, talentless actress got breast cancer.
deadhelenkeller: The Liza Minelli-slut actress just silently hugs her.
deadhelenkeller: Hilarious!
PR1NCE55PATCHE5: hah